The Secret Language of Iceland
by Fire The Canon
Summary: On his travels - before marriage, kids, and troublesome nephews - Vernon finds a place he'll never forget. Reykjavik in Iceland.


_**Written for maybewesortoosoon's Jetsetter Competition where I had to write a fic that was set in Reykjavik, Iceland**_

_**Written for Aenaris' Character Trait! Boot Camp using the prompt Adventurous (Adventurous!Vernon)**_

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**The Secret Language of Iceland**

Vernon Dursley was twenty years old – young, single and more than happy to travel the world by himself. He'd finished school about sixteen months ago (not with the best marks one could receive) and then left home two months later.

The relationship he had with his parents wasn't the best, and when he had announced he was travelling for who knew how long, they didn't argue. There was no crying from his mother, or congratulations from his father. It was a simple 'we'll see you when you get back' goodbye.

He wasn't really sure where he was heading. Seeing the world had never really been of interest to Vernon, but escaping his family was. If that meant leaving England to do so, then he'd stay elsewhere for as long as he could.

He went to France first, but became bored pretty quickly. He'd visited the Eiffel Tower, seen some of the countryside. Things like the Louvre were boring to him, so he left the country after a week.

He spent some more time in Germany, and then Switzerland, and even Denmark, ignoring letters from his parents, but sending the odd postcard when he remembered. He'd never felt so free before, if he was being honest with himself. He didn't want to go back.

A month after leaving, he came to find himself in Reykjavik - a dull city in Iceland. There wasn't much to see there (or do), but he found a hotel and settled into the old bed that creaked when laid down and shuddered when he got up.

He didn't like it at all, but there was something about it that compelled him to stay. Despite its flaws, it was peaceful and far away from anything else. He couldn't speak a word of the language – something he found to be an added bonus.

Vernon was never one to talk much. Even at school he sat by himself, completed work when he felt like it, and left before the teachers or other students had the chance to speak to him.

Being there was a nice change for him, so he stayed longer than he ever planned. Learning the language was something he never told anyone, but it was something he picked up really quickly – so quickly that after a month he was comfortable enough to walk to the local store to buy some bread and milk.

No one would ever learn that he understood it – not even his wife and son years later.

After spending almost two months there, another letter arrived in the post for him. How they had managed to find him, he would never know, but the letter interested him. It was his father informing him that there was a job lined up in London for him that he ought to take.

A job wasn't something Vernon had thought much of, but as he looked at the sad numbers in his bank account, he thought that maybe accepting the job was a good idea. It didn't sound all that interesting to him, but beggars couldn't be choosers (not that he considered himself a beggar).

So the next day he packed up his belongings, checked out of the hotel and then boarded a plane back to London. His parents greeted him at the airport, demanding to know all about his trip, most likely unaware that all but a month of it had been spent in one place.

He told them that it felt good to be back, and no, he didn't wish he was still there. He accepted the job a week later, and a month after that he met his future wife.

Some would say that he led a fairly boring life after that, but Vernon would disagree. He led a _normal_ life, and that suited him just fine.

When his wife accepted that good-for-nothing nephew of hers into their home, he began longing for that small, unsatisfying hotel back in Iceland. There had been no screaming toddlers back then, no vases exploding out of nowhere, and certainly no strange stares from the neighbours as they dragged a battered and bruised Harry with them, trying to hold Dudley off of his cousin.

No, Vernon Dursley had never set foot outside of England again, but when things began to get strange, and he felt himself losing control, that small city of Reykjavik popped into his mind, calming him somewhat.

It wasn't something he spoke of to anyone, it was just there. It was his secret. The place, the language, the people. It was the only thing that kept him from exploding completely.

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_**So, I basically had no idea what character to do for this, so I asked someone to choose for me and they chose Vernon... it was fun to write haha, if not just a tad challenging :P But I'm quite pleased with the way it turned out. I hope you found it interesting and your reviews would be much appreciated! Thank you!**_


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